


Calculating Twilight

by bellygunnr



Series: gray skies [1]
Category: Rockman ZX | Mega Man ZX, Rockman | Mega Man - All Media Types
Genre: Brother-Sister Relationships, Identity Issues, Near Death Experiences
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-09
Updated: 2019-03-09
Packaged: 2019-11-14 16:02:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18055604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellygunnr/pseuds/bellygunnr
Summary: Aile is desperately trying to figure Gray out before he hurts himself. She may have been too late.





	Calculating Twilight

Aile knew that Greye was fragile-- just how fragile, however, she had not measured until that very night. It was a long-haul mission on a technicality, requiring Aile and Greye to stake out an old watchtower for the better part of a day. They were nearing their tenth hour, and Greye was nearing his last straw. He curled up against her with tired, baleful eyes, Model A resting on his boot. The thick cables protruding from his chestguard wrinkled in his hands. 

 

“When can we go home?” Greye finally asked, his voice a bare whisper.

 

“Our shift ends in an hour. It’ll be okay,” Aile murmured. “At least there hasn’t been any activity, right?”

 

Greye’s eyes steeled. “No,” he said. “We had mavericks twice today.”

 

He pointed at his blackened, charred shoulder as if to prove his point. He had been grazed by the blast of a missile-launching fellow about three hours ago, yet had refused to retreat. Now it looked like he was preparing to use it as leverage.

 

“Well… yes,” she agreed. “Once we get home, we’ll get you fixed up, okay?”

 

The boy nodded. An hour could not come quick enough-- but thankfully, their mission concluded without any further action.

 

*

 

The narrow nurse’s office was comforting to Greye, if only because he slept in the back room. Aile picked through his hair as the doctor fixed up his shoulder, fussing over him like a worried mother. He didn’t protest, but he didn’t acknowledge her either.

 

“Feel better?” she ventured.

 

“Tired,” he responded after a long pause. “What time is it?”

 

“A little after eight in the evening…” Her fingers caught on a tangled knot of silver hair. Mindful, she picked through it gently. “You should get some rest.”

 

Greye did not get some rest.

 

*

 

The next time they met, Greye was on a solo mission. Smoke billowed freely from a festering wound in his back, dual pistols steaming from overuse. Worried hunters back home had been trying to contact him for hours to no avail and in a fit of desperation-- they called Aile. She would be able to get through to him.

 

Hopefully.

Aile hadn’t been able to get close to the youngster either, not until he was finished with the fight. Pain radiated out from his frame, grey eyes dim with the weight of the world. He barely recognizes his senior. 

 

“Kid, you look like you need to get home…”

 

“There’s more to do,” he hissed out. “This isn’t  _ finished. _ ”

 

Model A-- she can’t hear him, but his energy pulses slightly. Greye shakes his head vehemently.

 

“ _ I need to keep going. I have a spare tank, it’s fine _ .”

 

Aile couldn’t bite back the impressed whistle in time. Greye hisses again then tosses his head back, clumsily downing that spare tank. Most of it spills onto the front of his vest, bubbling where it hits open wounds. Jesus…

 

Before she can speak, Greye fills the room with light. He seems to swell to twice his size before she can see again-- and well, she had forgot about the Model’s little skill. Where once a fourteen year old boy stood, a hulking stag panted in his wake.

 

“Shit, are you sure that’s safe, kiddo?”

 

No response.

 

The wall crumbles into dust as the boy-turned-Pseudoroid charges forward.

 

Greye is fast in this form. Aile can hardly keep up equipped even with ZX, their gentle chatter keeping her focused and alert. She leaps in the wake of Buckfire-but-Not’s craters, finding purchase and propulsion. She takes out what enemies Greye misses.

 

“He’s really... “ her voice trails off.

 

_ Reminds me of you, Zero, _ chirps a small voice.

 

_ I was never so bad! _

 

He really was so bad, once upon a time. 

 

*

 

The lines between Greye and Buckfire blur as he embraces the Pseudoroid’s data. Memories not quite his own feel real and he relishes in the pleasure of moving. His mission objective is a thing of the past-- what was it? Why was he still out here? Had he not already beat the last enemy? No…

There was something he had to find.

 

An item, yes-- a flower for a child. She was small- maybe six or seven- and she had never seen a flower before, beyond the artificial plants within the bounty camp’s homes. That was a shame. Even Greye had seen a real flower, and he was… undeserving of it, to say the least. He must find a flower.

 

The concept is easy enough for Buckfire to grasp. Flowers. Find a flower without harming the flower. Bring the flower back home-- that’s where things became nebulous. Home was either his chambers in Weil’s castle, or the medical center of the camp. The two minds deliberated together. 

 

Ah.

 

The buildings are beginning to recede now, reducing their high-altitude footholds until they are forced to land on solid ground. Greye charges forward with a roar, sweeping blindly across the ground, flame jetting wispily from his antlers. Flowers… Plants, something, had to be here! Yet he saw only barren earth.

 

**WARNING::** _ ENERGY at CRITICAL LEVELS _ __   
  
Abruptly, power is sapped and rerouted from his hydraulic legs, forcibly drawn into the most essential functions. Buckfire/Greye collapse harshly and Model A detaches with a strained cry, leaving Greye sprawled on the ground.

 

_ What is wrong with you, Greye?! Jeez!  _

 

*

 

Aile is grateful when her charge’s mad dash comes to an abrupt halt, his diminutive frame sprawled and unconscious against scorched earth. She kneels beside him, fingers pressing to the center of his belly where you could feel a Reploid’s fuel pump. Even when they were inactive, it still flowed, but Greye’s was terribly still.

 

“HQ, this is Aile. I think we need a direct link back to the-- Airship.”

 

“Right away, ma’am. Two passengers?”

 

“Indeed,” she says gravely. “Right to the medical ward,” she adds.

  
  


_ He looks even more pitiful like this… Like a wet rat,  _ Model A says mournfully.

 

_ What was he looking for, A?  _ X asks gently. They float together, hovering just above a pair of surgeons operating on Greye.

 

_ A flower,  _ A says.  _ But he was going in the wrong direction. _

 

If the situation weren’t so dire, X could have laughed. Instead he merely sighed, flipping himself upside down so his gem was in the direction of the floor. By the time Aile had confronted him, the boy was already half-dead. And by the time she had apprehended him…

 

Well.

 

It couldn’t have been any more timely.

 

At least dear Model A didn’t seem overly worried about his partner.

 

*

Aile kneels before a tombstone, head bowed and hands clasped, her thoughts slow and meandering. The stone is a simple affair- a titanium post, arms folding across it, paying homage to a Reploid who had lived a short life. Her heart twists in her chest.

 

“Giro,” she says, and her voice is frail. “I’m training him. Trying to, at least. He’s a tough nut to crack.”

 

Her voice cracks, and she splutters a laugh. Of course. 

 

“That boy is crazy, though, Dad. Not in a bad way, but more of a Vent way…”

 

She swallows. Greye was something special, and he was her kid now, and fucking up was not something she could consider right now. 

 

“He’s in the medical ward, right now. Intensive care. His fuel pump was ripped out by some Pseudoroid, but he went tearing off halfway across the city for a flower!” 

 

The stone is silent and cold. She heaves a shuddering sigh. The tombstone was never as warm as the real thing, but Giro had moved on, and that was for the best. If only she could do right by his memory.

 

“I’m really trying. He’s just a kid! He’s fourteen, dad, but his eyes are the angriest things I’ve ever seen. Even in the operating room... But he’s angry at himself, isn’t he?”

Words slide from her mouth like water, uprooting and filtering the contents of her heart after months of keeping it in. She was some kind of parent, some kind of influential figure, and barely scraping her twenties. 

 

“What would you do, Giro? If you had to help Greye, what would you say?” 

 

The tombstone leers at her as she leans back, the nameplate glinting in the sunlight. 

 

[ GIROUETTE ]   
  


“Yeah, me too,” she sighs. She wipes at her eyes with her gloves, swallowing down a quiet sob. Damn it. She was supposed to be past that by now-- Giro had died so long ago. But her heart still burned with the loss.

 

Aile slowly stands up, brushing away the dirt and grass that had collected over her clothes. As she does so, she sees something move beneath the arm of Giro’s gravestone, a flicker of color in a shadow. She kneels back down to inspect it--

 

A daisy has sprouted beside the titanium testimony, its head weighed down by its own bud. The petals are still closed, though she can see slips of white peeking through, and several more bundles of unopened flowers curled beside it. Her hand brushes along the stem, and the daisy jumps, the petals abruptly unfurling like a small sun.

 

“Awh, Dad…”

 

_ * _

The Bounty Hunter’s camp is the same as the last time Greye saw it. There’s a few more residents, of course, but he had quickly learned that to be the nature of such a camp. Bounty hunters moved around a lot. A lot of them didn’t come back, either, though he was fortunate enough that all his friends were still here. He smiles at them now, waving enthusiastically yet never stopping long enough to chat.

 

He has some place to be. There’s a flower in his hand.

 

It’s a delicate daisy, thin and frail. Its petals are barely unfurled from its bud, the roots not yet taken into the pot. Greye is mindful not to move too fast for fear of scaring the plant. It has a lovely home waiting for it, with someone small and brave and deserving. She’d probably even name it… 

 

The tower stretches high into the sky before him, a stone testimony. He flashes a smile at the Reploid who guards it.

 

“Eh? You look chipper today, kid…” The guard says, baffled.

 

“Do you know if Emi is still home, Elliot? I really need to see her,” Greye asks imploringly. He ignores the comment. 

 

“She’s upstairs, with Clyde,” Elliot supplies. “Go get her.”

 

*

“A, you gotta A-Trans with me before we see her,” Greye hisses. 

 

_ Wh-why?! I thought you didn’t like doing that in camp!  _

 

“Emi likes it. She said I looked cool!”

 

_ Well, it’s nice to be appreciated…. By some people! _

 

*

 

Clyde is leaned against the wall, Emi in his ginormous lap, a book held between his hands. The cover is tattered and faded, yet the words still seem to be fresh, as the big Reploid reads them theatrically to the child. His rattles and booms conceal Greye’s approach, though the little daisy seems to recoil in on itself at the sound. He teases the petals reassuringly.

 

“Er, Clyde,” he says gently. Now that he’s here, he feels slightly awkward in full battle regalia.

 

(It looks cool, he reminds himself. Got to do it.)

 

“Clyde,” he says again. The big man finally pauses mid-word, arms haphazardly dropping back to his sides, Emi giggling in the abrupt silence--

 

“Ah! Greye! I wasn’t expecting you here! What’s that in your hands?” Clyde booms. The book closes with a snap and his expression is confused, searching out the silvers and oranges of Greye’s armor.

 

“It’s a gift, er… Emi, I found this for you,” he admits. He drops to one knee, proffering the flower pot.

 

The moment hangs in limbo. 

 

Emi’s eyes sparkle, honey-gold in a shaft of sunlight, her cheeks rosy with excitement. Her hands are held together against her chest, quivering, hesitating, as if the flower might wilt and shatter if she were to reach out and touch it. She reminds Greye of the daisy, and he wishes her to grow as strong as the daisy.

 

“It’s okay. You can hold it, it’s in the pot,” he urges quietly.

Emi finally reaches the pot, accepting it gingerly from Greye’s gloved hands.

 

“It’s real?” she asks in awe.

 

“It’s real,” Greye promises. 

 

*

**Author's Note:**

> This is the raffle prize for the lovely @allonsymituna on Tumblr.


End file.
